


Homicide for the Holidays

by PsychoticPerfection13



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Depression, I’m sorry, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Merry Christmas I Guess, Please Don’t Hate Me, Trigger Warnings!, mature audiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 04:41:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13139280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychoticPerfection13/pseuds/PsychoticPerfection13
Summary: The sunlight filtered in on to Steve’s bed from where the curtains fluttered soundlessly above the whirring vent. His eyes gradually cracked open, and his heart leaped when the promising, gray slanted light reached his vision.Christmas Day.~~~Trigger warnings.MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE! (Have this depressing fanfiction, I don’t want it)





	Homicide for the Holidays

**Author's Note:**

> It’s 12:09 AM on Christmas Morning and I’m tired so I don’t feel like proofreading it. All and any mistakes are mine: feel free to point them out in the comments so I can fix them. 
> 
> But, also leave kudos and comments. Please. I’m a kudos whore. 
> 
> Moral Destitution will be out soon! Got 5000 words and almost all of it is edited, so I’m excited. 
> 
> Have this terrible fanfiction, and MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE! <3

~~~~~

 

 

The sunlight filtered in on to Steve’s bed from where the curtains fluttered soundlessly above the whirring vent. His eyes gradually cracked open, and his heart leaped when the promising, gray slanted light reached his vision.

 

Christmas Day.

 

Steve flung the covers off of him, momentarily struggling with the sheets that had someone made their way around his ankles throughout the night, and practically bolted for the living room. The Avengers were gone on a mission to Siberia, which meant Tony and him had the Tower all to themselves.

 

He was a little more than excited. Only the night before Tony had promised that this would be a Christmas to remember, and then pecked him on the cheek and winked at him as he turned the corner into his workshop to drone away late into the night. Steve had gone to bed, hoping that if he slept the hours would fly by faster, but only achieved fidgeting in bed feverishly in expectancy of the morrow until he fell into a restless, dreamless sleep.

 

“Tony!”

 

When he finally turned the corner to take in the monumental, flashy Christmas tree in the foyer, Tony wasn’t there. He assumed that Tony had fallen asleep on his desk as always, and he bounced on the couch, his hands balled up in anticipation next to him, as he eyed the presents under the tree. There were basically hundreds: some small ones, half of them were medium sized, and then at least twenty of them were so big they barely fit under the tree that was easily thirty times their size.

 

The one that caught his eyes though was, frankly, poorly wrapped, but also arguably the largest one there. It was shaped like a mannequin of some sort, a body shape. _New armor,_ Steve thought excitedly. After the last battle against that weird squid terrorizing downtown Manhattan that Tony had suggestively asked about later that night, and Steve just shuddered and shook his head, his armor had been basically in shreds. He had gotten it patched up, enough where a blade or bullets wouldn’t get through it, but he vaguely remembered, while tinkering with the armor, Tony mentioning that it needed some serious upgrades.

 

So, he was pretty excited.

 

“Jarvis? Where’s Tony?”

 

No reply.

 

“Jarvis?”

 

Steve asked again, quizzically glancing up at the ceiling as if it would look back at him. Steve’s eyebrows furrowed. That was odd. Jarvis was always activated.

 

 _You know what_ , Steve mused, grinning to himself, _maybe he turned him off so we wouldn’t scar him getting it on in the living room._

 

“Tony?”

 

No response again. “Okay,” he said amusedly, louder so wherever Tony was he would hear him clearly, “I see how it is. You want me to open a present and then you’re gonna come bursting in dressed as Iron Claus or something.” Steve chuckled. That would be a sight to behold. “Okay, okay. You win.”

 

Steve studied the gifts under the tree from where he was sitting. All of the gifts seemed to be calling his name, figuratively and literally, considering that they most all of them had his name in big black letters scrawled across them, but something drew him to the armor that he was sure was waiting for him, the metal or kevlar polished in such a pristine way that Tony himself had judged to determine if it was acceptable. Blue and red, and maybe with barely decipherable words on the small of his back that read “Property of Tony Stark” like last time. It was a grand day for the press.

 

“Okay Tony! I’m opening this one!”

 

He turned it over and around, looking for some kind of tag to make sure it indeed belonged to him, but there wasn’t anything identifying it. Which was strange, considering that every present was labeled, including his, but he assumed Tony had been adding some finishing touches the night before and in his sleep deprived state, had forgotten to label it. And maybe Tony had come up with some new state of the art technology whose name Steve couldn’t even pronounce, because it wasn’t the hard, cutting armor that Steve had expected. It was soft, and kind of squishy, and it kind of felt like skin in a weird way.

 

My god. Had Tony got them a dog?

 

_Please be a dog._

 

Steve took a deep breath in, and then exhaled it all at once as he tore off the paper in one clean swipe. First present of the year.

 

Steve froze. Screamed.

 

It was Tony. But not Tony in some kind of scandalous outfit smirking up at Steve as he stuttered and his cheeks went as red as the metal on his shield. Nowhere close.

 

Steve frantically ripped off of the rest of the no longer seemingly festive, cheerful wrapping paper.

 

He had stab wounds. To his chest, his hip, his ribs, his back. And one single gunshot wound, to the side of his head.

 

“Tony, Tony, no no no.”

 

The blood was dried, caked in his hair and prominent in so many places that you couldn’t look at him without just seeing blood. Steve screeched as the tears fell from his eyes and unceremoniously splattered on Tony’s face.

 

Suicide? No, that wasn’t possible. You couldn’t stab yourself that many times and then still have enough functionality to shoot yourself in the head. And a dead person can’t wrap gifts, no matter the size.

 

So it was murder.

 

“Shit- fuck!”

 

Steve fumbled as he yanked his phone out of his pocket. He was shaking more violently than Tony’s brutal attack. “I need- I need an ambulance! To Stark- Stark Tower! No, he’s not okay! He’s fucking dead!”

 

The operator informed him that help was on the way, but he knew it was way too late. There were too many wounds, and he had been laying like this, bleeding out, for hours on end. He laid over Tony’s bloodstained chest, the dried blood coming off in flames, sobbing so harshly it was silent as the operator bombarded him with questions and solace that gradually began to sound like some kind of lecture. Eventually he gave up and just threw his phone at the wall, effectively shattering it and silencing the voice that wasn’t inside of his own head.

 

_You could have stopped this Steve._

 

_You saved the whole world once and you can’t even save the one person you loved._

 

_Pathetic._

 

He was vaguely aware of someone dragging him away from Tony’s body and being led away as people he didn’t know towered over Tony, _his_ Tony, discussing him and gazing upon him like he was kind of science experiment.

 

He was pushed into a car, and driven to a police station that might have been near the Tower, he wasn’t sure, and basically shoved down into a chair with a bright light shining in his face. He wasn’t sure if he was okay with that or not, considering that it was the last time he’d ever see the light in the same way again.

 

“It’s okay. Tell us what happened.”

 

He told them. Spewed out information that probably wouldn’t assist them in the slightest for what seemed like hours, and then sat in the corner of the interrogation room gently rocking back and forth as if it would help him shake the feeling helplessness.

 

Captain America. Helpless.

 

He had seen dead bodies. So many dead bodies. He was a soldier in World War II, so it was guaranteed. But seeing the empty, lifeless corpse of your best friend, your lover, usually so full of life, could drain a person. More psychologically and emotionally than physically. And no one can get you past that. Not even yourself sometimes.

 

 

~~~~~

 

 

Steve was slouched over the presents, exhaustion and despondency etched into every line of his face, the red and green shine from the lights and tinsel seemingly gone. He was opening his presents from Tony, alone, with Dum-E whirring sadly beside him where Tony would have been sitting, arms draped around Steve as he tore open his first gift with child-like excitement.

 

No leads. No witnesses. No DNA sample, and his cell phone was nowhere to be found. They had released Steve after their gentle prodding wasn’t getting them anywhere anymore. He had no reason to be considered a suspect- he was Captain America- so they released him effectively immediately with the promise that he’d call them if he had any more information. He would solve this case though- even if it killed him. On the outside, at least.

 

He didn’t know anything else. He just knew it should’ve been him. The rest of the Avengers knew when they weren’t wanted. Their comforting words (speeches, in Thor’s case) achieved nothing besides further fueling the voices of frustration and grief materializing in his head. Natalie had come in earlier and collected the presents that were labeled for everyone else, and they were having Christmas in another room halfway across the Tower.

 

Steve unwrapped the first few gifts without ceremony. They were expensive, millions of dollars, most likely, but they did nothing to quell the black hole that was rapidly expanding in his heart until it consumed him whole. Keys to a new car, state of the art drawing supplies, almost a thousand pencils.

 

It didn’t matter.

 

He rummaged to the very back of the tree after the rest of the gifts had been opened and set aside, and felt something nudge at his hand. He felt around for it, grabbing the tree skirt a few times before successfully pulling out a little black box. There was a piece of paper tied to it with a red ribbon, with words scrawled on it that Steve knew to be Tony’s handwriting.

 

A note.

 

He turned the shimmering gold paper over in his fingers a couple of times before reading what it said.

 

Steve’s heart plummeted.

 

_Steve,_

 

_I’m not exactly good with proposals. I’m not good with a lot of things actually- so I wrote this to read off of as I get down on one knee like a cheesy asshole to pledge my undying love to you. I’m not good at speaking from the heart, but if I am good at something, I would hope that it was loving you. I can’t ever imagine living without you, and I hope you would feel the same... but I know that’s unreasonable of me to ask. I just want your time, and your smile, and your laugh, and your heart. I want you. Forever._

 

_Steven Grant Rogers, will you marry me?_

 

Steve sat there motionless, tears staining the paper in his trembling hands, and he gingerly set it aside as he opened the black velvet box. It was easily a million dollar ring. But not the monumental diamond he expected that screamed for your attention. It was a gray metal, a simple wedding band, with a date etched into the glimmering stone.

 

_December 25th, 2017._

 

Steve’s tears fell freely.

 

 

 

Indeed a Christmas to remember.


End file.
